


A Constant Reminder of Where I Can Find Her

by besidemethewholedamntime



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Character Injured, F/M, Framework, Gen, I'm going to write something proper eventually, Implied Torture, sorry - Freeform, this came to me and wouldn't leave
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-17
Updated: 2017-04-17
Packaged: 2018-10-20 03:34:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,152
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10654047
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/besidemethewholedamntime/pseuds/besidemethewholedamntime
Summary: The first time it's her scream and it dislodges something in his mind.The next time it's his own and it becomes everything.(A little something I wrote because 'The Look' burned into my mind and wouldn't leave me alone)





	A Constant Reminder of Where I Can Find Her

**Author's Note:**

> So I wrote this because after That Look it's clear that he remembers something and I wrote this in an hour to get my feelings down on paper. Or screen. I don't think it'll go like this but my muse wanted it to go like this so this happened. 
> 
> Title from 'Reminder' by Mumford and Sons because I love this song and that line always gets to me.

The first time he hears her scream, it dislodges something in his mind.

He doesn’t know the _how,_ or the _why_ or anything really, but he knows, or is at least steadfastly sure, that he’s heard it before. In his head all he sees is blue and the tears in his eyes blurring her face so much until he cannot see her and that is the only thing which gives him the strength to push a button that brings on the scream that he never wants to hear again in his life. The scream is the last thing he hears before his world ends and he wakes up in a new one entirely. The memory keeps him rooted in place and he cannot move, cannot do anything except stare at a face that he is sure is as familiar to him as his own, even as bullets fly in a haze about them.

It distracts him immensely over the next few hours. So much so that he throws himself into his work - making others scream just as loud to drown out the sound of hers in his head. It doesn’t work, instead just intensifies the sound in his head which breaks his already dead heart over and over again. He doesn’t know why he’s feeling like this, shouldn’t be feeling like this. He is the bloody Doctor for crying out loud; he feels nothing and does as he sees is necessary for the better world. He doesn’t remember the screams; he’s an expert at drowning them out. He forgets the faces always; they are never imprinted on his mind and prodding at the image doesn’t hurt him so acutely. He is Leopold James Fitz and he feels nothing.

Although, now apparently he does.

He doesn’t sleep at night, and now the woman lying next to him feels like a stranger. He knows her. He doesn’t know her. He loves her. He _hates_ her. He can’t describe the war in his head and he feels like he shouldn’t be here. _None of this is real._ A voice in his head whispers to him. It lies. It must. This _is_ real. People from the other side must just be messing with his head. There’s a perfectly reasonable explanation for this. She tells him so all the time.

So he throws himself into finding the subversive with the name and the face of Jemma Anne Simmons. It takes many nights and days and he loses track of time and more than once throws something in the direction of a Hydra Agent but eventually he finds her location and receives a proud look from _her._ He ignores the way his chest feels too tight and the fleeting feeling of shame that burns him.

The second time it’s his scream and it’s because he remembers everything.  

They’re facing off: Hydra and SHIELD resistance and something tugs in his mind. There are so many guns and it’s hard to keep focussed on the task. Jemma Simmons is standing up front and she pleads with him with her eyes. He doesn’t know what she wants from him. He turns away.

Demands are made and threats are slung across the void between the two sides. He knows that it’s never been as clear cut as this; that Hydra and Shield are intertwined amongst each other and always will be. He hears Madame order something and he hears the other side astutely refuse. A warning shot is fired and the other side still refuse to budge. He knows somewhere deep in his mind that they won’t, that SHIELD has always been stubborn little buggers, like cockroaches. But this time he’s not entirely sure they need to be eradicated.  Someone that may or may not be the leader (he hasn’t been paying much attention to this standoff – he’s mostly just here for appearances, for a united front) tells them to take their best shot.

The Madame smiles a slow, ugly smile. “Fine. Have it your way.”

Then she signals to the gunman to his left and he fires almost immediately. The loud noise startles him. He’s sure he’s never liked guns. He hears it hit its target and then he sees them fall.

And then, out of his own control, he screams, “ _Jemma! No! Jemma!”_

His body is not his own as he pushes past everyone and falls to his knees at her side, cradling her in his arms. Her white shirt grows red on her stomach. He wants to vomit. Because he knows he knows her. He knows he loves her. He knows that he loves Jemma Anne Simmons more than anything in any world and that he has and would cross the universe for her, drown for her and follow her everywhere. He knows that he is not this… this _monster_ and that he isn’t in love with Madame Hydra. He knows that none of this is real; that a world in which he had his father is a pretty crappy one because it made him _this_ and took away Jemma.  This can’t be real, because his dad has never loved him and Jemma always has.

She smiles. It’s sad but it’s real. “Fitz,” she murmurs, raising a shaky hand to grip his, “you remember.”

“Yeah,” he affirms, tears falling off his face onto hers. “Yeah, I do. And I’m sorry, Jemma. I’m so sorry.”

“Sh,” she tells him. “It’s alright. It’s okay.”

But it’s not. And they both know it. And they both know that there may not be a chance to make it right.

Bullets have started flying and he tries to position himself to shield her from it. He sees Madame but he ignores her. Looking at her brings bile to the back of his throat and he doesn’t want to lose himself within himself right now.

“I’m going to get you out of here. I promise,” he whispers to her, kissing her on the forehead. “I love you, Jemma.”

“I knew you’d come back to me,” she whispers back, but it’s so quiet and her eyes and fluttering closed. He hold on to her tight and tries to move them. It takes too long for comfort but eventually they sit in the back of a resistance van with agents eyeing them warily as it speeds towards the hospital. He holds her hand and keeps pressure on the wound and begs her to hold on.

He once said that he wasn’t strong enough to live in a world without her in it. He still isn’t. Living in a world without Jemma Anne Simmons has made Leopold James Fitz dark and twisted and he needs to make it up to her, to everyone. He doesn’t think he’s strong enough to do it without her. He needs her to fix it with him, side by side. Together. The way they do.

The way he _knows_ they always have done.

**Author's Note:**

> If you want to come visit me on Tumblr I'm 'besidemethewholedamntime' over there :-)


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